


Discovery

by Edoraslass



Series: Under My Wing [58]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-24
Updated: 2014-12-24
Packaged: 2018-03-03 03:41:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2836784
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Edoraslass/pseuds/Edoraslass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In Which Nanny Discovers A Secret About Boromir</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discovery

**Author's Note:**

> very mild discussion of sexuality
> 
> ~*~

When I was awakened by clattering and muffled swearing in the playroom, I knew it was Boromir. At sixteen, he of course no longer lived in the nursery, but he often came to see Faramir and me, when he was in Minas Tirith. He also occasionally found his way back to his old bed when he’d been out drinking, something which amused me to no end. Boromir said this was because his new rooms were too close to the bell-towers, but I suspected that it was because he knew that I would see him safely to bed, then coddle him when he woke in the morning with a sore head. Which I always did.  
  
I hurried to make certain he was all right - I did not want him to wake Faramir, but usually, he was very quiet when he came in, and most times I did not know he was there until breakfast.  
  
Tonight, however, I found him collapsed on the couch, already half-asleep. His tunic was askew, and he reeked of wine and ale and smoky tavern rooms. That was not _all_ he smelled of, and I blushed to the roots of my hair. Thanks to less-than-discrete older brothers, I knew what that other smell was. I did not dwell on it; I did not _want_ to dwell on it. I still had trouble seeing him as an adult, and I did not care to think about on what adult activities Boromir might have engaged in that evening.   
  
“Boromir, come, sit up,” I whispered. “Let me help you to your bed.”  
  
“No, ‘m fine,” he replied drowsily. “I’ll sleep here.”  
  
“You will not,” I contradicted. “This couch was not meant for sleeping.”  
  
He looked at me through half-open eyes. “Nanny,” he greeted with a smile, as if he‘d been expecting someone else. “All right then.”  
  
He leaned on me as we walked, mumbling under his breath. “I hope it was worth it,” I sighed as he sat heavily on the bed. “You will have such a head in the morning.”  
  
Boromir muttered something about where he had been, what he had done. I was also amused by the fact that I could actually _understand_ his ramblings - his voice, disjointed and garbled, was much like it had been when he was only just learning to speak . But I listened with only half an ear as I pulled off his boots and overtunic. I caught mentions of taverns, drinking companions, and some very complicated joke they had played on a young recruit.  
  
I gently pushed against his shoulders until he lay down so I could pull the bedclothes over him, though the blankets did not stand a chance of covering his ankles and feet, tall as he’d gotten.  
  
“…you’d like him…” he murmured, turning his face into the pillow.  
  
“I’d like who, duckling?” I asked absently, setting his boots where they could be easily found.  
  
He mumbled again, something I did not quite catch, but his tone of voice made me stop and look at him. It was -- odd. Almost dreamy. But of course it was; he was drunk.  
  
Then, very clearly, he said a name. It was not a name I recognized, and it was not a woman’s name. And he spoke that name as if besotted by something other than spirits.   
  
I was so taken off guard that I sat down on the mattress by Boromir’s feet, staring at him. I considered what he had been saying as I prepared him for bed, and came to one, unavoidable conclusion.  
  
“… very nice,” Boromir said, again in that sweet tone, and now a tiny, secretive smile played on his lips.   
  
I leaned over to kiss his forehead. “I am sure he is,” I told him quietly.  
  
I watched him sleep for a bit longer, troubled. I could not honestly say that the possibility that Boromir had little interest in women had not occurred to me. He had never doted on any young noblewomen, never gotten giddy or moonstruck over one particular girl, never been overly pleased to ask a girl to dance at any of the formal banquets. He was proper and civil, but that was all. And something about Boromir had always put me in mind of one of my older brothers; I had not known why, for they were as different as chalk and cheese. Now I thought I knew.   
  
But I did not want it to be so, not for my Boromir. He was sixteen years old, true enough, and more than able to judge his own wants -- he had _always_ been able to do that -- but this…this would be a difficult path for him, to say the least. I wanted him to be happy, him and Faramir both, but I did not see where this could lead to happiness. He would still have to wed. There would be no getting around that. Oh, he could likely manage to avoid it for many years -- after all, the Lord Denethor had not married until he was forty-six years old -- but Boromir could not run off to sea, as my brother Pilimór had. Boromir could not ignore his duty to Gondor.   
  
When I finally sought my bed again, I slept fitfully, for I wanted to make certain that I spoke to Boromir before he left. Finally I rose, just before dawn, and waited.   
  
Faramir woke first, naturally, and we had our usual quiet morning chat over breakfast. He went to see if his brother was still sleeping, and, when he discovered that Boromir was dead to the world, only laughed and went off to his lessons.  
  
Boromir staggered out of his room -- it would always be his room to me --an hour later, looking very much like he regretted being awake. “I am sorry that I woke you last night,” he apologized, seating himself with great care. “I did not mean to.”  
  
“I know,” I replied, handing him a mug of tea. “But you seemed to have enjoyed yourself.”  
  
Boromir knew my moods and intonations as well as I knew his, and he glanced at me, frowning. He took a gulp of his tea, then after a moment of staring at the tabletop, he asked very quietly, “What did I say?” His back was rigid with tension.   
  
I could not tell if he remembered talking, and wanted to find out what I knew, or if he did not remember, and needed to know what he had said. “You spoke of a tavern, and of a man you passed time with,” I replied as gently as I knew how. For an instant, his hands trembled, then he set the mug on the table with unwonted care.  
  
I was struck with the certainty that he was preparing to flee without another word, and so I went to sit next to him. “Boromir,” I said softly, placing a hand on his shoulder. He flinched, just as he had when he was a boy preparing to confess some misdeed. “Boromir, will you listen to me for a moment?”  
  
He shuddered, and gave a curt nod.   
  
“Just…..be more careful, love,” I said. I wanted to say more, but he was so skittish that I was afraid I would scare him off. “You have never been one for caution, but now you must exercise some prudence. The next person you speak to so might not understand the meaning of discretion.” He turned his head, staring at me with wide eyes that held a dark shadow of fear, and I felt a stab of sorrow that he somehow felt I might not keep this close to my heart. “Have I ever given your secrets away?”  
  
He shook his head, something like relief combined with incredulity in his eyes.   
  
“You know that your father would not approve,” I pointed out. “ _That_ is why you must be cautious, Boromir. He would _not_ approve, and he could make your life utterly miserable. He would also be likely to mete out severe punishment to your -- friend, were you discovered.”  
  
I could see from Boromir’s expression that he had not considered this. I could also see, from the way his face was slowly turning beet-red, that he could not talk to his 34-year-old unwed nanny about this matter. He wanted to talk to someone, to be sure, and he might have _wanted_ to talk to me -- but he _could_ not. In truth it pained me a bit, but I did not blame him. It was already a hard enough thing for him to accept.  
  
I took his face in my hands, his unshaven cheeks scratching my palms. “Do not fear reproach from me, Boromir. I am not your father. You have always made me proud. And you may come to me any time you like with your troubles.” He dropped his eyes so swiftly that I knew he was trying to keep his composure, so I changed the subject, letting my hands fall to his shoulders. “Now, get you to a bath, and to the kitchens. I’ve saved no breakfast for you, but I am sure that you can cajole something out of Mag.”  
  
I wished I could have told him of my brother. I wished I could have told him what I knew of Mag and Niallis. But he was embarrassed enough as it was, and now he knew that he could come to me, if he needed to. I would tell him of my brother if he asked, and if Mag thought it necessary, she would tell him of herself. For now, I had done all that I could do.  
  
With no warning, Boromir turned and hugged me fiercely. Then he stood and left. He had not spoken once during my little speech, but then, I had not expected him to.  
  
I hoped that Boromir would take my words to heart. I knew that he would be in for some rough waters, but Boromir had always been determined, and I was sure that he would navigate them as best he could. I knew, as he did, that one day he would have to wed.   
  
And I hoped that between now and then, he would be able to find someone who brought him joy, short-lived though it would have to be, for I only wished for him to be happy.


End file.
